Just What Friends Do
by lexyrose
Summary: Katniss and Peeta, with only a few days left before entering the arena again during the Third Quarter Quell, find comfort in eachother.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Just What Friends Do**

Inspired by: _Catching Fire_, (pg 233): "Warmth radiates from the spot where his lips just touch my neck, slowly spreading through the rest of me. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go. And why should I? I have said goodbye to Gale. I'll never see him again, that's for certain. Nothing I can do can hurt him. He won't see it or he'll think I am acting for the cameras. That, at least, is one weight off my sholders."

This scene take place around Pg 296 of _Catching Fire_, after the day on the roof: "We stay on the roof until bed time and then quietly slip down to my room without encountering anyone."

* * *

She wonders at it now, how naturally he's become part of her life, how accustomed she is to his solid presence, warm and reassuring against her. She's still pretending to herself that this is _just what friends do_, even though part of her, the part she resists desperately because she doesn't know where it will take her, thinks that just friendship doesn't quite describe how much she enjoys feeling Peeta against her; how painfully glad she is that he's here with her now, on the brink of the arena again, facing into the abyss together.

She's never been good at normal friendships. Not with Gale, not with Peeta—both relationships now colored by an edge of heat and need that unsettles her. The thought reminds her of the images that woke her up, not nightmares for once, but just as disturbing, in a different way. Of Gale, pressed against her as he was in the cabin by the lake, kissing her hungrily, the kind of hunger that he's only put into action twice now, and both times she's pushed him away, not let herself answer back, not let herself start something she couldn't finish. But Gale is gone to her now, far away and beyond her reach, and more importantly, she reminds herself earnestly…she is never going to see him again. She wishes, not for the first time, that she had done with him back at the lake what she was now doing in the dream—kissing him back, putting all her pent up feelings into action, like the Capitol didn't exist and it was just the two of them in the forest, with no one to come back for. She can still feel the throbbing heat between her legs.

But now she's here with Peeta, whose body and scent she knows so well, familiar like the taste of his mouth and his hands against her every night as he soothes her to sleep. When they're not in front of cameras, his kisses are bland and respectful, like he's afraid he'll frighten her away if he reveals too much. Most of the time she's grateful for that, that he doesn't make her choose, and most of all, grateful that he's come back to her, now that they've been thrown together again by the Quarter Quell. Grateful enough to pretend that this is _just what friends do_, what they'll keep doing until they've used up the little time they have left. She's grateful enough that's she ignores Peeta's erections pressed against her every morning, pretends she doesn't hear when he moans her name in his sleep, pretends the answering wetness between her legs has nothing to do with him.

Although she's started to wonder lately if maybe she isn't making a mistake. Maybe her efforts to keep herself detached are foolish, when she'll be dead in a few weeks anyway. What difference does it make if she does something stupid? What can the Capitol take from her now, that she hasn't already planned to give? She won't be alive for the repercussions to hurt her, or anyone else. She's always been a fucking coward, she thinks angrily, too fucking scared to admit what Gale meant to her until it's too late, and now she's in the same predicament with Peeta, again, and it's almost too fucking late. Only a handful more nights like this one, warm and secure in his arms, and the clock's ticking against them.

She shifts then, frustrated and angry and scared, to look at Peeta's sleeping face, trying to calm herself down. Her abrupt movement causes him to stir, and he moans softly, exhaling, and then pulls her tighter against him, so he's spooning up against her, his chest pressed against her back, one arm tight and secure around her, his fingers inches away from her breasts through the thin nightgown. She feels the idiocy of her subconscious defense—_just what friends do_—keenly; he feels so good against her that she can't resist pressing back towards him, gasping slightly when she feels that he's hard again and his hips are shifting against her.

Katniss freezes. She could push him off now-he won't remember in the morning-keep a safe distance between them, avoid his eyes at breakfast. But she's so tired of resisting, pretending she doesn't want it, it's a hard façade to keep up at the best of circumstances, much less when Peeta's asleep and pressed against her. She thinks suddenly, firmly, that if she acts now in this dreamlike daze maybe she can have her cake and eat it too. She moves against him again, feeling him press into her through the thin layer of their underclothes, hot and tantalizing and not close enough. She's moves his other hand, pushing it up from where its resting on her ribs up so it covers her breast, his fingers still slack with sleep but an enticing pressure against her nipple and she can't help gasping again. She's never felt anything as unspeakably intimate as Peeta's cock twitching against the back of her thigh, his hand cupping her breast, breathing steadily against the back of her neck.

Is he really sleeping through this? she wonders. It doesn't matter. She's too curious, too frustrated, too hot and desperate and needy, for too long, and she thinks maybe she can get some relief is she plays this one out. She wants to push Peeta, claw away his sweetness and gentleness and make him prove he wants her the way she wants him right now, prove she's not so _pure_—if only he knew. So she shifts again, gently, trying not to wake him, so that his cock is caught between her thighs, pressing against her, _so _close… She feels more than hears his moan, so she does it again, pressing forward and back, and now Peeta's definitely breathing harder.

"Katniss..." He's moans into her ear. And suddenly he's moving, almost thrusting against her, his arm locking her in place, pressing her face-down into the mattress. She'd feel suffocated if she wasn't so turned on, so wet now she's almost dripping. His hips jerk hard against her and he stills, and there's a sudden sharp satisfaction when she realizes why he's stopped, as she feels the warm wetness seeping through the thin cotton against her crotch. He's still pressed up against her, shaking slightly, but his breathing's slowing. She's starts to think he's still asleep, and she feels relieved—she won't have to face what's happened til the morning or maybe not at all, if she can slip out of bed before he wakes up...

Her thoughts are interrupted when he abruptly jerks off of her, sitting up. She turns her head cautiously to face him in the dim light, filled with the hideous sense of a dissolving dream, but when she looks up at him, his head is down, blue eyes wide and glassy, maybe staring at the wet spot on his pants?—she can't tell.

His glance flicks over to the matching wet spot on her crotch, and he buries his face in his hands, refusing to meet her eyes. "Shit, Katniss," he moans. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

Her first instinct is to bury her face in her pillow, or maybe just run away. Not face what she's started. But Peeta's just sitting there, head in hands, looking so miserable that she almost laughs out loud. She's never been good with words, and they're failing her now -how can she tell Peeta she liked it when he held her down and thrust against her? -that she wants him to keep touching her?

He starts to move like he's going to get up, and this spurs her into action. She grabs his wrist without thinking, pulls him back toward her. He looks at her, eyes wide and startled, lips parted slightly, and in a moment of fearlessness she leans forward and presses her mouth against his, licking at his mouth a little, and his lips twitch against her, his other hand settling on her hip. She's disappointed when he pulls back slightly.

"Katniss?" he breathes. His voice is still questioning and confused, so she makes what she wants clearer: one firm pull and twist of his wrist and he topples unresistingly back against the bed, lying on his back. His mouth is wet and she wants to taste him again, so she straddles him. She leans down to kiss him, and his hands come up, one tangles in her hair, the other one against her back, but he's still kind of frozen.

"Peeta…" she breathes against his cheek, "kiss me back."

"Oh, Katniss," he moans. "Am I still dreaming?"

But he's kissing her back now, his grip in her hair almost painful, and she's so hot for it, she starts grinding against Peeta's stomach, desperate for any pressure against her _there_. Peeta groans into the kiss, and surges towards her. He's gripping her arms now, and all of a sudden she's on her back and he's on top of her, and one of his big hands pushing her legs apart before he settles between them, his weight pinning her to their bed. He's hard again, she can feel his cock pressed between her legs, and the pressure is _so_ good, and she shifts against him, trying to get him to thrust against her. But he just grabs her hands and presses them back above her head, not moving. His eyes are so blue, she thinks blandly, caught beneath him. His breathing is ragged, and he's staring at her intently.

"What do we doing, Katniss?" His voice is soft and rough and slightly desperate, and she squirms against him, trying to free her arms, but his grip stays firm.

"Let me -_go_!" She demands, struggling harder, this time, knowing there's no way she push him off her, he's much too big, too strong; all she can do is distract him: she leans forward and kisses his neck, exposed above her, and then bites down lightly on the same spot.

He whimpers at that, and his grip loosens, and she knows she has him now, but he's still not moving, so she tries again: "Please touch me," she whispers against his ear, pressing her mouth against any part of him she can reach: his cheek, shoulder, the hard muscles of his arm. He stays still for another long second, and she stops, suddenly hit by the miserable thought that maybe a conscious Peeta doesn't want her the way the dreaming one did. She stills then, feeling a hot curl of shame in her stomach—_well, to hell with this, they can lie like this all night, she won't beg again…_but then Peeta's mouth is moving against her, kissing her over and over, his expression reverent. He's released her arms now, and she moves them down his back, petting him absently, distracted by Peeta's mouth on her neck, and she wants more –now- so she grabs his hand and pulls it under her shirt to cup her breast, and his hand is stroking her nipple, squeezing gently, and she starts trying to rub herself against him again, forgetting his hips still have her pinned to the bed.

"You're so beautiful," Peeta whispers, as he pushes her shirt up and off her. He shifts slightly to suckle her nipples, and she arches up towards his mouth, her body zinging with pleasure.

Through her daze she realizes he's moving down her body now, kissing her stomach, his fingers tracing the edge of her cotton underwear, and he looks up at her, mouth glistening. "Is this OK?" He asks, and Katniss nods.

"Keep going" she orders, ashamed at the breathy whine of her voice, but Peeta's face shows nothing but stunned awe, and she raises her hips off the bed slightly as he pull her underwear down. Some part of her thinks she ought to be embarrassed at this point: at being stark naked in front of Peeta, or maybe at the wanton wetness between her legs, giving away how badly she wants this—wants him. But she's distracted by Peeta's almost pained exhale when he slides his hand between her legs and finds her dripping, and before she realizes what's happening his mouth is _there_. She cries out softly, startled and amazed. _She's never going to be happy with just her hands again_, she thinks, as his mouth suckles her, it's _so good_, she can't help the noises she's making…. or her frustrated whine when Peeta lifts his mouth off her briefly to look at her, his face flushed and adoring. She arches her hips towards his mouth, trying wordlessly to get him to keep going, and when she feels him push one think finger into her, she bucks against his hand with a keening cry.

"Say my name," he tells her, and she's startled by this—Peeta doesn't _order_ her to do anything. But when he lowers his head back onto her, licking her gently, almost teasingly, she gives in. Anything to keep him going.

"Peeta" she breathes, jerking her hips back and forth on his finger, lifting her hips to meet his mouth, "Peeta, oh"—he's sliding another thick finger into her now, suckling her harder—"Peeta, _Peeta_, _oh god_"—She's there now, she didn't know it could be this good, she's shaking and seeing stars and comes with a gasping cry, biting at her hands out of some instinctual sense to keep quiet.

For a few seconds, she's too dazed to do anything but lie there, covering her face with her hands, but she looks down at him when he gently slides his fingers out of her. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and then looks up at her, pausing to gently kiss her hip, her stomach. He's smiling now; he looks happy and vaguely triumphant.

TBC


End file.
